“Lady Inverhall,” he said curtly.
She rubbed her eyes, heavy with sleep. “Aye, Yer Grace?”
His voice dropped low, laced with quiet fury. “What, exactly, was that display with Lady Danbury and Lord Reginald? You undermined every introduction I arranged and turned the evening into a sideshow.”
“I wasnae seated near a single eligible gentleman,” she replied, her voice steady but tired.
“You had ample opportunity before dinner. You might have exercised some discretion while doing the rounds.” He stepped forward, his frustration mounting.
Lady Inverhall stiffened. “I spoke plainly. I dinnae see the need to flatter fools or feign interest in a man like Lord Reginald.”
“That was not your decision to make,” Hugo said tightly. “This is not Inverhall. You are not some free-spirited tenant’s daughter amusing herself at a village fair. You are a dowager marchioness in the heart of London, and you are expected to behave accordingly.”
Her eyes flashed. “And I told ye, I’ve no intention of marryin’ again. So ye can stop pushin’ me into every drawing room like a mare up for auction.”
He stared at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “My convenience, Lady Inverhall, happens to be rather important to me. I have worked too hard to throw away opportunities because you find civility beneath you.”
“Do ye care for no one’s interests but yer own?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less fierce.
The question landed hard in the space between them.
For a moment, Hugo faltered.
Yes, she was right; he was forcing her into something she clearly loathed. He knew all too well what little future awaited a woman like her.
This was not cruelty. It was practicality.
But then he remembered her barbed remarks, her refusal to show even the smallest courtesy, and the sharp glint she alwayswore like armor. The thought that sheenjoyedpushing him—that sherelishedresisting—ignited his frustration once more.
He stepped closer, his tall frame crowding hers, his voice low and even.
“You should be grateful,” he said. “Grateful that I am willing to secure a future for you. One you will never find in that superstitious corner of the Highlands you cling to like a badge of pride.”
She let out a scoff that prickled down his spine.
She tilted up her chin, her green eyes unflinching. “Oh, I’ll show ye just how grateful I am, Yer Grace.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Perhaps it is,” she said calmly.
Hugo’s gaze flicked to those full, infuriating lips. A heat sparked low in his belly, unwelcome but insistent.
He hated the pull of her—how her defiance only seemed to deepen it. Even now, as she challenged him, all he could think about was how that fire might feel in his hands.
Damn her.
With a sharp exhale, he clenched his fists, more out of restraint than anything else, and turned on his heel.
He said nothing further as he strode down the corridor, the echo of his footsteps as clipped and angry as the slam of his door moments later.
In his chamber, he paced to the hearth, stoked the fire with unnecessary force, then crossed to the window. He threw it open, hoping the night air might cool the heat inside him.
It did not.
He undressed in silence, lay down in his large bed, and closed his eyes. He tried to think of business, of ledgers, shipments, the logic of trade. But it was no use.
All he saw was her. Those flashing emerald-green eyes, the defiant tilt of her chin, the mess of dark curls he wanted to thread his fingers through just once.
